,       -       ..       r       ,       -.  -  ...       - 


HYTCHfNSON''*' 


HER     PICTURE. 


SONGS   AND    LYRICS 


BY 


ELLEN  MACKAY  HUTCHINSON 


WITH   FRONTISPIECE    FROM  A    PAINTING 
BY  GEORGE  H.  BOUGH  TON 


BOSTON 

JAMES  R.   OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 
1881 


Copyright,  iB8i, 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  : 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


/m 


TO 


ELLEN    SHEFFIELD   PHELPS 


320359 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MOTH-SONG 13 

HER  PICTURE 15 

HARVEST 17 

THE  RUNAWAY 20 

So  WAGS  THE  WORLD 22 

AT  THE  PALACE-GATE 23 

SEA-WAY 24 

AT  SEA 25 

A  FLOWER'S  EPITAPH 27 

PRISCILLA 28 

THE  SWEET  BETRAYAL 31 

THE  DATE  IN  THE  RING 32 

IN  SNOW 35 

SHADOW  SONG 36 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

ON  THE  ROAD 37 

NOCTURNE 38 

WIND-FLOWER 40 

O  GOLDEN  ARROW 42 

THE  SENTINEL 43 

BLUE  FLAGS 44 

A  DAY  IN  SPRING 46 

THE  SHADOW 47 

MARCH  SONGS 48 

FOR  LOVE  is  BLIND 50 

A  LOVER'S  ANSWER 51 

THE  DIFFERENCE 52 

APRIL  FANTASIE 54 

THE  PRINCE 56 

ALL  THE  YEAR  ROUND 57 

LOVE'S  IMAGINATION 59 

THE  QUEST 61 

MAY  MORNING  SONGS 63 

TRYST 65 

MARGUERITE 67 

AUTUMN  SONG 70 

SUMMER  NIGHT 71 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE 

QUAKER  LADIES 72 

THE  WAYS  OF  LOVE 75 

OLIVIA 76 

LILAC 77 

A  SUMMER  RAIN 79 

ALL  IN  ALL 81 

NOVEMBER  DAYS 82 

TO-MORROW 83 

LOVE  IN  HERMITAGE 84 

A  CRY  FROM  THE  SHORE 86 

MORNING-GLORY 88 

THE  HIDDEN  CHARM 90 

UNDER  THE  STARS 92 

VAGRANT  PANSIES 93 

JUNE 96 

MIDSUMMER  SONG 98 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES. 


PAGE 

What  dost  thou  here 13 

Autumn  was  cold  in  Plymouth  town 15 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet 17 

Joy,  my  tender  fairy 20 

Memory  cannot  linger  long 22 

If  at  thy  palace-gate 23 

The  tide  slips  up  the  silver  sand 24 

Flying  down  into  the  dark 25 

These  dead  leaves  were  a  violet  once       ....  27 

My  little  Love  sits  in  the  shade 28 

My  darling  tries  with  all  her  art 31 

The  women  dressed  her  for  farewell 32 

The  golden  meadows  sleep  in  snow 35 

The  silver  dew  hath  come  again 36 

Dost  know  the  way  to  Paradise  ? 37 

Wan  Twilight  in  her  gown  of  gray 38 

I  thought  to  find  my  darling  waiting  in  the  wood  .  40 

O  golden  arrow  on  the  spire 42 

He  paces  round  the  fortress  wall    ......  43 

What  sweet  rebellion  in  thy  blood       44 

Little  violets  in  the  garden  staying 46 

If  he  once  were  dear 47 

Aloft,  alow,  the  mad  winds  blow 48 

Fate  counselled  her  if  she  were  wise 50 

An  early  rose,  a  late  rose 51 

The  budding  boughs  before  him  bent      ....  52 


12         INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 

PAGE 

The  fresh,  bright  bloom  of  the  daffodils       ...  54 

September  waves  his  golden-rod 56 

Go,  time  and  tide,  go  as  you  will  ......  57 

There  is  a  pretty  herb  that  grows       59 

It  was  a  heavenly  time  of  life 61 

When  Chanticleer  in  early  morn 63 

Under  the  willow  on  a  summer  day 65 

From  dawn  to  nightfall  at  her  window  sitting   .     .  67 

Red  leaf,  gold  leaf 70 

Lend  me  thy  lance,  O  gracious  moon       ....  71 

More  shy  than  the  shy  violet 72 

Sweet  and  bitter  together 75 

With  flout  and  pout  and  pretty  frown      ....  76 

I  cannot  tell  why  lilac  flowers 77 

The  rippling  music  of  the  shower  is  still      ...  79 

Her  Love,  he  hath  a  lordly  way 81 

Flying,  flying 82 

O  summer  day,  that  art  so  brief 83 

Behind  closed  doors  and  double  locks  he  bides      .  84 

Come  down,  ye  graybeard  mariners 86 

Flower-o'-flax  is  like  the  sky 88 

Whether  my  life  be  glad  or  no 90 

O  Night,  look  down  through  cloud  and  star      .     .92 

They  are  all  in  the  lily  bed,  cuddled  close  together  93 

Of  silvery-shining  rains 96 

Now  flits  the  bee  through  clover-dales     ....  98 


I. 

MOTH-SONG. 

WHAT  dost  thou  here, 

Thou  dusky  courtier, 
Within  the  pinky  palace  of  the  rose  ? 
Here  is  no  bed  for  thee, 
No  honeyed  spicery,  — 
But  for  the  golden  bee, 
And  the  gay  wind,  and  me 

Its  sweetness  grows. 
Rover,  thou  dost  forget ;  — 
Seek  thou  the  passion-flower 
Bloom  of  one  twilight  hour. 

Haste,  thou  art  late  I 
Its  hidden  savors  wait. 


14  MOTH-SONG. 

For  thee  is  spread 
Its  soft,  purple  coverlet ; 

Moth,  art  thou  sped  ? 
—  Dim  as  a  ghost  he  flies 
Through  the  night  mysteries. 


HER  PICTURE.  15 


II. 

HER  PICTURE. 

AUTUMN  was  cold  in  Plymouth  town : 

The  wind  ran  round  the  shore, 
Now  softly  passing  up  and  down, 
Now  wild  and  fierce  and  fleet, 

Wavering  overhead, 
Moaning  in  the  narrow  street 
As  one  beside  the  dead. 

The  leaves  of  wrinkled  gold  and  brown 
Fluttered  here  and  there, 
But  not  quite  heedless  where ; 

For  as  in  hood  and  sad-hue d  gown 
The  Rose  of  Plymouth  took  the  air, 

They  whirled,  and  whirled,  and  fell  to  rest 


16  HER  PICTURE. 

Upon  her  gentle  breast, 
Then  on  the  happy  earth  her  foot  had  pressed. 

Autumn  is  wild  in  Plymouth  town, 

Barren  and  bleak  and  cold, 
And  still  the  dead  leaves  flutter  down 

As  the  years  grow  old. 
And  still  —  forever  gravely  fair  — 

Beneath  their  fitful  whirl, 

New  England's  sweetest  girl, 
Rose  Standish,  takes  the  air. 


HARVEST.  17 


III. 

HARVEST. 

SWEET,  sweet,  sweet, 

Is  the  wind's  song, 
Astir  in  the  rippled  wheat 

All  day  long. 

It  hath  the  brook's  wild  gayety, 
The  sorrowful  cry  of  the  sea. 

Oh  hush  and  hear  ! 

Sweet,  sweet  and  clear, 

Above  the  locust's  whirr 

And  hum  of  bee 
Rises  that  soft,  pathetic  harmony. 


i8  HARVEST. 

In  the  meadow-grass 

The  innocent  white  daisies  blow, 
The  dandelion  plume  doth  pass 

Vaguely  to  and  fro  — 
The  unquiet  spirit  of  a  flower 
That  hath  too  brief  an  hour. 

Now  doth  a  little  cloud  all  white, 

Or  golden  bright, 
Drift  down  the  warm,  blue  sky ; 

And  now  on  the  horizon  line 
Where  dusky  woodlands  lie, 

A  sunny  mist  doth  shine, 
Like  to  a  veil  before  a  holy  shrine, 
Concealing,  half-revealing 
Things  Divine. 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet, 

Is  the  wind's  song, 
Astir  in  the  rippled  wheat 

All  day  long. 


HARVEST.  19 

That  exquisite  music  calls 

The  reaper  everywhere  — 

Life  and  death  must  share, 
The  golden  harvest  falls. 

So  doth  all  end  — 

Honored  Philosophy, 

Science  and  Art, 

The  bloom  of  the  heart ;  — 
Master,  Consoler,  Friend, 

Make  Thou  the  harvest  of  our  days 

To  fall  within  thy  ways. 


THE  RUNAWAY. 


IV. 

THE   RUNAWAY. 

JOY,  my  tender  fairy, 
Wilful,  wistful,  airy  — 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  why 
You  are  so  very  shy. 

Don't  I  want  you,  love  you, 
Look  and  long  to  prove  you 
Friend,  as  I  to  you, 
Faithful,  gentle,  true  ? 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  find  me ; 
You  don't  know  how  to  bind  me  ; 


THE  RUNAWAY.  21 

I  fly,  yet  am  not  shy  — 
Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 

"  Because,  while  you  pursue, 
My  sweetness  I  renew ; 
I  fold  my  wings  to  rest 
In  some  less  eager  breast !  " 


22  SO  WAGS   THE  WORLD. 


V. 

SO  WAGS  THE   WORLD. 

MEMORY  cannot  linger  long, 

Joy  must  die  the  death. 
Hope 's  like  a  little  silver  song 

Fading  in  a  breath. 
So  wags  the  weary  world  away 

Forever  and  a  day. 

But  love,  that  sweetest  madness, 
Leaps  and  grows  in  toil  and  sadness, 
Makes  unseeing  eyes  to  see, 
And  heapeth  wealth  in  penury. 
So  wags  the  good  old  world  away 
Forever  and  a  day. 


AT  THE  PALACE-GATE.  23 


VI. 

AT  THE   PALACE-GATE. 

IF  at  thy  palace-gate, 
Dear,  thou  dost  bid  me  wait 
And  take  such  dole  of  love 
As  thy  calm  heart  may  move, 
In  truth,  I  have  no  way 
Nor  will  to  say  thee  nay. 

If  from  my  living  heart, 
Love,  thou  dost  bid  me  part, 
And  leaving  it  with  thee 
Keep  only  memory,  — 
Alas  !  I  have  no  way 
Nor  will  to  say  thee  nay. 


24  SEA- WAY. 


VII. 

SEA-WAY. 

THE  tide  slips  up  the  silver  sand, 

Dark  night  and  rosy  day ; 
It  brings  sea-treasures  to  the  land, 

Then  bears  them  all  away. 
On  mighty  shores  from  east  to  west 
It  wails,  and  gropes,  and  cannot  rest. 

O  Tide,  that  still  doth  ebb  and  flow 
Through  night  to  golden  day :  — 

Wit,  learning,  beauty,  come  and  go, 
Thou  giv'st  —  thou  tak'st  away. 

But  sometime,  on  some  gracious  shore, 

Thou  shalt  lie  still  and  ebb  no  more. 


AT  SEA.  25 


VIII. 

AT   SEA. 

FLYING  down  into  the  dark, 
Cloudy  schooner,  brig,  and  bark, 
Flit  away  beyond  the  bar, 
Melting,  fading,  far  and  far  — 
Flying  down  into  the  dark. 

Flying  fast  from  strand  to  strand, 
Spurning  ocean,  spurning  land, 
A  sea-bird  wheels  in  ardent  quest. 
Pr'ythee,  brother,  canst  not  rest  ?  — 
Flying  fast  from  strand  to  strand. 


26  AT  SEA. 

Flying  far  beyond  the  blue, 
Thought 's  a  wilful  wanderer  too ; 
Love,  dost  draw  my  dreams  thy  way  ? 
All  in  vain  I  bid  them  stay  — 
Flying  far  beyond  the  blue. 


A  FLOWER'S  EPITAPH.  27 


IX. 

A  FLOWER'S   EPITAPH. 

THESE  dead  leaves  were  a  violet  once, 

A  tender,  timid  thing, 
A  sleeping  beauty  till  the  wind 

Kissed  it  awake  in  Spring. 

Then  for  one  little,  little  hour 
It  knew  Love's  deep  delight ; 

Unto  the  wooing  wind  it  gave 
All  that  a  violet  might. 

And  then  it  drooped  and  faded  happily ; 
For  having  loved,  it  was  not  pain  to  die. 


28  PRISCILLA. 


X. 


PRISCILLA. 

MY  little  Love  sits  in  the  shade 

Beneath  the  climbing  roses, 
And  gravely  sews  in  a  half-dream 
The  dainty  measures  of  her  seam 
Until  the  twilight  closes. 

I  look  and  long,  yet  have  no  care 
To  break  her  maiden  musing; 

I  idly  toss  my  book  away, 

And  watch  her  pretty  fingers  stray 
Along  their  task  confusing. 


PRISCILLA.  29 

The  dews  fall,  and  the  sunset  light 
Goes  creeping  o'er  the  meadows, 
And  still,  with  serious  eyes  cast  down, 
She  gravely  sews  her  wedding-gown 
Among  the  growing  shadows. 

I  needs  must  gaze,  though  on  her  cheek 

The  bashful  roses  quiver  — 
She  is  so  modest,  simple,  sweet, 
That  I,  poor  pilgrim,  at  her  feet 

Would  fain  adore  forever. 

A  heavenly  peace  dwells  in  her  heart ; 

Her  love  is  yet  half  duty. 
Serene  and  serious,  still  and  quaint, 
She 's  partly  woman,  partly  saint, 

This  Presbyterian  beauty. 

She  is  so  shy  that  all  my  prayers 
Scarce  win  a  few  small  kisses  — 


30  PRISCILLA. 

She  lifts  her  lovely  eyes  to  mine 
And  softly  grants,  with  blush  divine, 
Such  slender  grace  as  this  is. 

I  watch  her  with  a  tender  care 

And  joy  not  free  from  sadness  — 
For  what  am  I  that  I  should  take 
This  gentle  soul  and  think  to  make 
Its  future  days  all  gladness  ? 

Can  I  fulfil  those  maiden  dreams 

In  some  imperfect  fashion  ? 
I  am  no  hero,  but  I  know 
I  love  you,  Dear  —  the  rest  I  throw 
Upon  your  sweet  compassion. 


THE  SWEET  BETRAYAL.          31 

XI. 

THE   SWEET  BETRAYAL. 

MY  darling  tries  with  all  her  art 
To  hide  young  Love  within  her  heart, 
But,  prisoned  in  that  tender  nest, 
He  frets,  and  frets,  and  will  not  rest ; 
And  soon  the  little  rogue  I  spy 
At  play  within  her  laughing  eye. 

My  darling  tries  with  all  her  skill 
To  bind  young  Love  unto  her  will, 
But  work  such  witchcraft  as  she  may, 
The  pretty  rebel  hath  his  way. 
He  decks  her  cheeks  with  blushes  rare, 
And  lingers  in  the  dimples  there ;  — 
In  glance  and  blush  and  smile  I  spy 
All  that  my  love  would  fain  deny. 


32         THE  DATE  IN  THE  RING. 


XII. 

THE  DATE  IN  THE  RING. 

THE  women  dressed  her  for  farewell 

In  snowy  silk  and  lace  ; 
A  crown  of  her  braided  hair  they  set 

Above  her  quiet  face, 
And  on  her  placid  breast  they  laid 
White  roses,  as  became  a  maid. 

Her  mother  bent  and  kissed  her  lips, 
And  kissed  her  braided  hair, 

And  folded  down  the  peaceful  hands 
Upon  the  bosom  fair, 

And,  weeping,  saw  on  one  a  ring  — 

A  little  golden,  time-worn  thing. 


THE  DATE  IN  THE  RING.         33 

She  took  it  from  the  icy  hand 
And  looked  for  rhyme  or  name  — 

Something  to  say  why  it  was  there, 
From  whose  fond  thought  it  came. 

She  only  saw,  through  many  a  tear, 

A  date  long  past  —  day,  month,  and  year. 

"  'T  was  some  schoolfellow's  gift/7  she  sighed, 

"  The  child  forgot  to  show/7 
And  put  it  back  in  its  own  place 

With  tender  touch  and  slow, 
And  saw  its  tiny  glitter  rest 

Like  sunshine  on  that  quiet  breast. 

Ah,  little  ring,  you  kept  it  well, 

The  secret  of  your  date  ! 
Whatever  its  meaning,  it  goes  untold 

Beyond  the  earth  and  fate  : 
Pain  or  blessing  —  who  can  say 
How  much  of  either  in  it  lay  ? 


34        THE  DATE  IN  THE  RING. 

We  watch  the  light  in  our  darlings'  eyes, 
The  lines  that  the  slow  years  bring, 

Yet  know  as  little  what  they  mean 
As  the  secret  of  the  ring. 

Joy  or  sorrow  —  God  only  knows 

How  much  of  both  lies  under  the  rose. 


IN  SNOW.  35 


XIII. 
IN  SNOW. 

THE  golden  meadows  sleep  in  snow ; 
The  arrowy  winds  about  them  blow, 
And  icy  sparkles  come  and  go. 

The  golden  meadows  sleep  in  snow ; 
But  underneath  the  grasses  grow, 
And  daisies  dream  of  bud  and  blow. 

The  golden  meadows  sleep  in  snow ; 
My  little  maiden,  dost  thou  know 
How  half  unconscious  love  may  grow  ? 


36  SHADOW  SONG. 

XIV. 
SHADOW   SONG. 

THE  silver  dew  hath  come  again 
To  garden,  hill,  and  meadow : 

It  is  the  shadow  of  the  rain  — 
A  shimmering  soft  shadow. 

The  cool  white  moonlight  hath  its  will 
With  wood  and  glistening  meadow : 

'T  is  sunshine's  shadow,  pale  and  still, 
A  mystical,  sweet  shadow. 

My  Queen  the  shining  path  doth  take 
Across  the  misty  meadow ; 

I  follow  for  her  darling  sake  — 
For  I  am  but  her  shadow. 


ON  THE  ROAD.         37 


XV. 
ON  THE  ROAD. 

DOST  know  the  way  to  Paradise  ? 
Pray,  tell  me,  by  thy  grace. 

"  Any  way  thou  canst  devise 
That  leads  to  my  Love's  face  — 
For  that 's  his  dwelling-place/' 

How  far  is  it  to  Paradise  ? 
"  Ah,  that  I  cannot  say ; 

Time  loiters  and  my  heart  it  flies  — 
A  minute  seems  a  day 
Whene'er  I  go  that  way." 


38  NOCTURNE. 


XVI. 
NOCTURNE. 

WAN  Twilight  in  her  gown  of  gray 
Comes  swiftly  down  the  western  way, 

With  Moonshine  hastening  after ; 
And  here  among  the  forest  damps 
She  lights  her  twinkling  firefly  lamps, 

And  stills  the  wind's  wild  laughter. 

The  brook  in  trilling  monotone 
Gives  sleepy  welcome  of  its  own, 

The  cedars  bend  and  quiver, 
But  all  the  meadow  sounds  are  still, 
The  flocks  are  folded  on  the  hill 

Beyond  the  placid  river. 


NOCTURNE.  39 

Sweet  Twilight,  as  thou  com'st  to  these 
With  healing  dew  and  soothing  breeze, 

So  come  thou  unto  me. 
Bring  gentle  dreams  and  quiet  rest, 
Weave,  weave  thy  spell,  O  shadowy  guest, 

In  calm  benignity ! 


40  WIND-FLOWER. 


XVII. 
WIND-FLOWER. 

I  THOUGHT  to  find  my  darling  waiting  in  the 
wood  — 

Did  anybody  see  her,  to-day  or  yesterday  ? 
She  wears  a  snowy  gown, 
And  the  softest  cloak  of  down. 

It 's  a  timid  air  she  has,  and  a  modest  little  way. 

It 's  no  use  to  ask  the  Wind,  for  he 's  jealous  of 

my  dear ; 
He  wants  her  for  himself,  and  he  wooes  her  all 

the  time ; 


WIND-FLOWER.  41 

But  woo  her  all  he  dare, 
My  darling  does  n't  care,  — 
She  shakes  her  little  head  to  his  reason  and  his 
rhyme. 

I  thought  to  find  her  hidden  in  the  brown  and 

rustling  leaves ; 
The  days  are  long  and  sunny  warm,  where  can 

my  treasure  stay  ? 
—  Ah,  here  you  are,  my  sweet, 
Here,  smiling  at  my  feet, 

Spite  of  all  your  timid  air,  and  your  modest  little 
way ! 


42  O   GOLDEN  ARROW. 


XVIII. 
O  GOLDEN  ARROW. 

O  GOLDEN  arrow  on  the  spire, 
Yield'st  thou  to  the  Wind's  desire  ? 

—  To  the  southward  veering,  turning, 
In  the  crimson  sunset  burning. 

O  heart,  why  stir  in  sad  desire  — 
Burn'st  thcu  within  Love's  altar-fire  ? 

—  To  the  southward  vainly  turning, 
For  thine  own  Beloved  yearning ! 


THE  SENTINEL.  43 


XIX. 
THE   SENTINEL. 

HE  paces  round  the  fortress  wall 
For  hours  and  hours  together ; 

Afar  his  ringing  footsteps  fall ; 
Through  wild  and  wintry  weather 

He  paces  round  the  fortress  wall 
Hours  and  hours  together. 

So  Love  doth  guard  the  loving  heart 
For  years  and  years  together. 

Grief  cannot  stay,  nor  anger  start, 
Whatever  be  life's  weather. 

So  Love  doth  guard  the  loving  heart 
Years  and  years  together. 


44  BLUE  FLAGS. 


XX. 

BLUE  FLAGS. 

FLEUR  DE  LIS. 

WHAT  sweet  rebellion  in  thy  blood, 
My  June,  hath  bid  thee  raise 

Thy  royal  standards  by  the  wood 
And  through  the  meadow  ways  ? 

What  stir  of  passion,  darling  sprite, 

Spread  these  blue  banners  to  the  light  ? 

Past  lily  buds  and  leafy  blades 

The  glorious  pageant  flies  : 
In  sunny  shallows,  reedy  shades, 

Unnumbered  blossoms  rise. 


BLUE  FLAGS.  45 

By  rocky  coast,  in  salty  bight, 
Thy  banners  glitter  in  the  light. 


Wrought  of  warm  noons  and  morning  dew, 

And  painted  from  the  skies, 
Say,  have  they  not  the  very  blue 

Of  Maiden  Marian's  eyes  ? 
Ah,  June,  thy  flags  are  not  so  bright 
As  those  deep  eyes  are  in  the  light ! 


46  A   DAY  IN  SPRING. 


XXI. 

A   DAY   IN   SPRING. 

LITTLE  violets  in  the  garden  staying, 

Small  and  blue,  and  sweet  as  sweet  can  be, 

Don't  you  wonder  what  it  is  we  're  playing 
Up  in  the  world  ?    Suppose  you  come  and  see. 

We  play  at  joy,  and  find  our  play  no  pleasure ; 

We  play  at  faith,  and  quickly  throw  it  by ; 
We  play  at  hope,  and  think  our  toy  a  treasure 

Until  Time  shows  it  scarcely  worth  a  sigh. 

Little  violets  in  the  garden  staying, 

Small  and  blue,  and  sweet  as  sweet  can  be, 

Do  you  wonder  what  it  is  we  're  playing  ? 

Wake  up,  darlings  !     Pray  you,  come  and  see. 


THE  SHADOW.  47 


XXII. 
THE   SHADOW. 

IF  he  once  were  dear, 

Oh,  if  he  once  were  dear  — 
Love  cannot  die  and  be  forgotten  quite. 

If  he  hath  grieving  lain 

At  the  feet  of  Pain, 
The  tired  heart  still  keeps  his  memory  bright. 

A  gentle  ghost,  he  sits 

At  frozen  hearths,  and  flits, 
Quiet  and  calm,  beside  the  desolate  way ; 

And  still  the  sweet  appeal 

His  shadowy  eyes  reveal 
Takes  heart  and  soul  back  to  a  happier  day. 


48  MARCH  SONGS. 


XXIII. 

MARCH   SONGS. 

I. 

ALOFT,  alow,  the  mad  winds  blow ; 

On  fields  and  uplands  bare 
They  seize  the  lingering  wreaths  of  snow, 
And  hurl  and  whirl  them  to  and  fro, 

And  heap  them  here  and  there. 

Round  the  deserted  garden-ways 

Where  last  year's  lilies  lie, 
The  savage  North-wind,  shrieking,  strays, 
And  there  the  wilful  West-wind  plays 

With  flower-stalks  dun  and  dry. 


MARCH  SONGS.  49 

Blow,  blow,  wild  winds,  aloft,  alow  ! 

The  ides  of  March  are  past ; 
Swift  as  your  wings  the  dark  days  go, 
Then  blow  your  maddest,  winds,  blow,  blow  ! 

My  May  is  coming  fast. 

II. 

WAX  and  wane,  once  and  again, 

O  pallid  moon  of  March ! 
Swifter  lift  thy  light  and  drift 

Across  the  sky's  blue  arch. 

Wax  and  wane,  once  and  again, 

Till  April 's  fled  away ; 
Speed,  speed  thy  flight  through  night  to  night, 

And  be  the  moon  of  May. 


50  FOR  LOVE  IS  BLIND. 


XXIV. 
FOR  LOVE   IS   BLIND. 

FATE  counselled  her  if  she  were  wise 

To  set  a  guard  upon  her  eyes, 

And  thus  be  safe  from  Love's  surprise. 

But  Youth,  the  hero,  came  erelong, 

Came  singing  through  a  heedless  throng;  — 

She  listened,  breathless,  to  his  song. 

"  O  Fate,"  she  murmured,  "  wert  thou  wise  ? 

I  set  a  guard  upon  mine  eyes, 

Yet  must  I  yield  to  Love's  surprise  ! " 


A   LOVER'S  ANSWER.  51 

XXV. 
A  LOVER'S   ANSWER. 

AN  early  rose,  a  late  rose  — 

What  matters  it,  mine  own, 
Since  all  its  gracious  beauty 

Blooms  for  you  alone  ? 
An  early  rose  is  of  the   dawn,  dewy,  fleeting, 

bright ; 
A  late  rose  is  of  the  noon,  a  lingering  delight. 

First  love,  last  love  — 

What  does  it  matter,  dear, 
Since  for  your  maiden  grace  it  pleads 

In  earnest  faith  and  fear  ? 

First  love  is  of  the  dawn,  dewy,  fleeting,  bright ; 
Last  love  is  of  the  noon,  life's  lingering  delight. 


52  THE  DIFFERENCE. 


XXVI. 

THE  DIFFERENCE. 

THE  budding  boughs  before  him  bent 

In  the  dark  and  the  rain, 
As  carelessly  he  turned  and  went 

Down  the  lonely  lane. 
And  drifting  with  the  wind's  wild  cry 
She  heard :  "  Good-by,  fair  friend,  good-by/ 

At  the  door  she  idly  stayed 
And  watched  the  twilight  wane 

Through  the  arch  the  wet  boughs  made 
Above  the  dreary  lane. 

Ah,  sodden  earth  and  darkening  sky ! 

She  wept,  "  Good-by,  my  Love,  good-by." 


THE  DIFFERENCE.  53 

Through  the  rain  and  the  wind  he  went 

Into  the  world  again. 
Fate  and  Fortune  before  him  bent, 

Forgot  was  the  lonely  lane. 
Only  the  night- wind  heard  her  cry  — 

"  Alas !     Good-by,  my  Love,  good-by." 


54  APRIL  FANTASIE. 

XXVII. 
APRIL  FANTASIE. 

THE  fresh,  bright  bloom  of  the  daffodils 
Makes  gold  in  the  garden  bed, 

Gold  that  is  like  the  sunbeams 
Loitering  overhead. 
Bloom,  bloom 

In  the  sun  and  the  wind  — 

April  hath  a  fickle  mind. 

The  budding  twigs  of  the  sweetbrier 

Stir  as  with  hope  and  bliss 
Under  the  sun's  soft  glances, 

Under  the  wind's  sly  kiss. 

Swing,  swing 

In  the  sun  and  the  wind  — 
April  hath  a  fickle  mind. 


APRIL  FANTASIE. 

May,  she  calls  to  her  little  ones, 
Her  flowers  hiding  away, 

"  Never  put  off  till  to-morrow 
What  you  may  do  to-day. 
Come,  come 

Through  the  sun  and  the  wind  — 

April  hath  a  fickle  mind." 


55 


56  THE  PRINCE. 

XXVIII. 
THE  PRINCE. 

SEPTEMBER  waves  his  golden-rod 
Along  the  lanes  and  hollows, 

And  saunters  round  the  sunny  fields 
A-playing  with  the  swallows. 

The  corn  has  listened  for  his  step, 
The  maples  blush  to  greet  him, 

And  gay,  coquetting  Sumach  dons 
Her  velvet  cloak  to  meet  him. 

Come  to  the  hearth,  O  merry  Prince, 
With  flaming  knot  and  ember ; 

For  all  your  tricks  of  frosty  eves, 
We  love  your  ways,  September ! 


ALL    THE    YEAR  ROUND.  57 


XXIX. 
ALL  THE  YEAR  ROUND. 

Go,  time  and  tide,  go  as  you  will  — 

I  cannot  heed  your  ways. 
What  care  I  for  summer  glow, 
What  care  I  for  ice  and  snow, 
When  love  doth  fill  my  days  ? 

Unto  its  ark  through  wind  and  rain 

My  heart  flies  as  the  dove ; 
Oh,  rosy  is  the  darkened  day 
And  rosy  is  the  stormy  way 
That  lead  me  to  my  Love. 


58          ALL    THE    YEAR  ROUND. 

How  can  I  care  if  leaves  be  green 

Or  gray  with  early  rime  ? 
Love,  ruling,  reigning  in  the  soul 
With  pure  and  passionate  control, 
Makes  its  own  summer-time ! 


LOVE'S  IMAGINATION.  59 


XXX. 

LOVE'S  IMAGINATION. 

"  A  little  Western  flower—" 

THERE  is  a  pretty  herb  that  grows 

In  the  everywhere. 
The  chilliest  wild  winter  snows, 

The  roughest  saucy  air, 

It  hath  a  way  to  dare, 
And  kissed  by  warmest  wind  that  blows 

It  blooms  as  fairy  fair. 
Yet  though  it  grow  on  every  side, 
No  mortal  knows  where  it  doth  bide. 
One  seeks  in  vain  till  locks  be  gray ; 
And  one,  upon  some  happy  day, 
Unheeding,  finds  it  in  his  way. 


60  LOVE'S  IMAGINATION. 

Hast  found  the  wildling,  my  Lucile  ? 

Ah,  do  not  pluck  it,  Sweet ; 
If  but  one  dainty  touch  it  feel, 

It  withers  at  thy  feet ! 


THE  QUEST.  61 


XXXI. 

THE   QUEST. 

IT  was  a  heavenly  time  of  life 
When  first  I  went  to  Spain, 

The  lovely  land  of  silver  mists, 
The  land  of  golden  grain. 

My  little  ship  through  unknown  seas 
Sailed  many  a  changing  day ; 

Sometimes  the  chilling  winds  came  up 
And  blew  across  her  way. 

Sometimes  the  rain  came  down  and  hid 
The  shining  shores  of  Spain, 

The  beauty  of  the  silver  mists  ' 
And  of  the  golden  grain. 


62  THE  QUEST. 

But  through  the  rains  and  through  the  winds, 

Upon  the  untried  sea, 
My  fairy  ship  sailed  on  and  on, 

With  all  my  dreams  and  me. 

And  now,  no  more  a  child,  I  long 

For  that  sweet  time  again, 
When  on  the  far  horizon  bar 

Rose  up  the  shores  of  Spain. 

0  lovely  land  of  silver  mists, 
O  land  of  golden  grain, 

1  look  for  you  with  smiles,  with  tears, 
But  look  for  you  in  vain ! 


MAY  MORNING  SONGS.  63 

XXXII. 
MAY  MORNING  SONGS. 

I. 

WHEN  Chanticleer  in  early  mom 
Winds  his  keen  and  merry  horn, 
Meadow-mists,  all  pale  and  shy, 
After  moonshine,  fading,  fly ; 
Dew-wet  daffodils  arise, 
Pansies  open  their  dark  eyes ; 
Apple-blossoms  far  and  near 
Unlock  their  dainty  buds  to  hear. 
Dream  and  midnight  phantasy 
To  haunt  of  elf  and  goblin  hie, 
Or  make  a  forty-minute  dart 
To  vex  some  drowsy  Chinese  heart. 
Floods  of  shimmering  sunshine  play 
Around  the  world  and  make  it  May ! 


64  MAY  MORNING  SONGS. 


II. 

ROSY  clouds  fled  round  the  sky, 
The  little  joyous  Winds  rushed  by, 
In  greening  woods  to  wake  the  Day, 
And  it  was  May  ! 

Her  blue  eyes  opened  sweet  and  slow,- 
The  violet  buds  began  to  blow ; 
She  smiled,  and  in  a  sudden  flame 
The  tulips  came ! 


TRYST.  65 

XXXIII. 

TRYST. 

"  There  is  a  willow  grows  ascaunt  the  brook, 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream — " 

UNDER  the  willow  on  a  summer  day, 
He  watched  the  breaking  bubbles   on  the 

stream, 

Eager,  impatient,  chiding  eve's  delay, 
For  one  soft  footstep  list'ning  till  the  gray, 
Cool  twilight,  falling,  held  him  like  a  dream. 

The  gentle  stars  came  out,  but  she,  of  all 
The  fairest  star,  shone  not  upon  his  dark ; 

He  felt  the  tender  dew  begin  to  fall ; 

He  heard  a  nestling's  faint  and  sleepy  call, 
And  saw  the  firefly  light  his  radiant  spark. 


66  TRYST. 

—  O  cruel  Fate !  the  thread  is  cut  you  spun. 

He  sees  a  fair  face  in  the  shadows  gleam :  — 
Pale,  pale,  poor  girl  —  her  little  day  is  done  ; 
Kissed  by  the  careless  ripples  as  they  run, 

She  comes  to  meet  him,  tossing  in  the  stream. 


MARGUERITE.  67 


XXXIV. 

MARGUERITE. 

FROM  dawn  to  nightfall  at  her  window  sitting, 
She  waits,  while  drift  the  heavy  hours  away ; 

And  like  the  swallows  all  her  thoughts  go  flitting 
To  that  sweet  South  wherein  they  fain  would 
stay. 

Up  from  the  street  there  comes  the  lazy  laughter 
Of  girls  who  linger  by  the  fountain's  fall ; 

She  heeds  them  not  —  her  gaze  still  follows  after 
The  clouds  that  roll  beyond  the  city  wall. 

She  vaguely  hears  her  mother's  fretful  chiding, 
Her  idle  wheel  grows  dusty  at  her  side ; 

Listless  she  wonders  where  her  love  is  biding : 
Where'er  he  be  there  must  her  heart  abide. 


68  MARGUERITE. 

All  the  day  long  she  listens  for  his  coming, 
All  the  long  day  she  dreams  of  one  dear  face ; 

She  hears  his  whisper  in  the  bees'  low  humming, 
She  feels  his  kisses  in  the  wind's  embrace. 

Lonely  she  dreams  while  the  warm  sunshine  lingers 
Upon  the  carven  angels  of  her  chair  — 

Alone  sits  sobbing,  while  with  silver  fingers 
The  moonbeams  thread  her  soft  unbraided  hair- 

Ah,  heavy  heart !  so  passionate  its  yearning, 
She  needs  must  know  that  all  her  peace  is  o'er  ; 

That  eager  pain  'neath  her  white  bosom  burning 
Tells  her  't  is  gone,  to  enter  there  no  more ; 

But  once  to  feel,  unchecked,  his  fond  caressing ! 

One  wild,  sweet  hour  close  to  his  heart  to  press ! 
There  her  thought  stops ;  what  else  of  bliss  or 

blessing 

The  great  world  holds  she  does  not  care  to 
guess. 


MARGUERITE.  69 

Still  at  her  window,  dreaming,  longing,  weeping, 
While  to  their  mates  the  gray  doves  coo  and 

call, 
She    leans    and   watches   the   slow   clouds   go 

creeping 
Far  down  the  blue,  beyond  the  city  wall. 


70  AUTUMN  SONG. 

XXXV. 
AUTUMN   SONG. 

RED  leaf,  gold  leaf, 
Flutter  down  the  wind : 
Life  is  brief,  oh !  life  is  brief, 
But  Mother  Earth  is  kind ; 
From  her  dear  bosom  ye  shall  spring 
To  new  blossoming. 

The  red  leaf,  the  gold  leaf, 
They  have  had  their  way ; 
Love  is  long  if  life  be  brief,  — 

Life  is  but  a  day ; 

And  Love  from  Grief  and  Death  shall  spring 
To  new  blossoming. 


SUMMER  NIGHT.  71 


XXXVI. 
SUMMER  NIGHT. 

LEND  me  thy  lance,  O  gracious  moon, 
That  I  may  cleave  the  dark ; 

Sing  softer,  wind,  or  hush  thy  tune ; 
O  laughing  river,  hark ! 

For  I  have  lost  my  heart,  alas  I 

And  know  that  it  is  near. 
—  O  tangled  vine-leaves,  let  him  pass,  - 

He  comes,  my  dear !  my  dear ! 


72  QUAKER  LADIES. 


XXXVII. 

QUAKER  LADIES. 

[In    New    England   the   Houstonia   is   known  as  the 
"Quaker  Lady."] 

MORE  shy  than  the  shy  violet, 
Hiding  when  the  wind  doth  pass, 
Nestled  in  the  nodding  grass, 

With  morning  mist  all  wet, 
In  open  woodland  ways 
The  Quaker  Lady  strays. 

Pale  as  noonday  cloudlets  are, 

Floating  in  the  blue, 
This  little  wildwood  star 

Blooms  in  light  and  dew. 


QUAKER  LADIES.  73 

Sun  and  shadow  on  her  hair, 

Flowers  about  her  feet, 

Pale  and  still  and  sweet ; 
As  a  nun  all  pure  and  fair, 
Through  the  soft  spring  air, 

In  the  light  of  God 

Deborah  walks  abroad. 

Her  little  cap  it  hath  a  grace 

Most  demure  and  grave, 
And  her  kerchief's  modest  lace 

Veils  the  lovely  wave 
Above  her  maiden  heart, 
Where  only  gentle  thoughts  have  part. 

Even  the  tying  of  her  shoe 

Hath  beauty  in  it  too, 
A  delicate,  sweet  art. 

Hiding  when  the  wind  goes  by, 
Not  afraid,  yet  shy, 


74  QUAKER  LADIES. 

The  tiny  flower  takes  from  the  sky 
Life's  own  light  and  dew, 
And  its  exquisite  hue. 

And  the  little  Quaker  maid 

Timidly,  yet  not  afraid, 

Unfolds  the  sweetness  of  her  soul 
To  Heavenly  control, 

And  wears  upon  her  quiet  face 

The  Spirit's  tender  grace. 


THE   WAYS  OF  LOVE. 


75 


XXXVIII. 


THE  WAYS  OF  LOVE. 


SWEET  and  bitter  together, — 

That  is  our  portion  here ; 
Love  that  is  truth,  growth,  spirit,  — 

That  is  the  sweet,  my  dear. 

Sweet  and  bitter  together,  — 
Reproach  and  scorn  and  fear ; 

Love  that  forgives  not,  endures  not,  — 
That  is  the  bitter,  my  dear. 

Sweet  and  bitter  together,  — 

That  is  our  portion  here. 
Thank  Him  who  on  one  side  the  river 

Gives  us  only  the  sweet,  my  dear. 


76  OLIVIA. 

XXXIX. 
OLIVIA. 

WITH  flout  and  pout  and  pretty  frown 
For  this,  for  that,  Olivia  teased ; 

I  kissed  her  cheek,  and  smiled  her  down 
Until  her  saucy  urging  ceased 

And  angry  tears  shone  in  her  eyes, 

With :  "  Nay,  my  love,  it  were  not  wise, 
My  fair  Olivia." 

But  soon,  with  this  and  that  forgot, 
I  wooed  my  bright  Olivia's  smiles  : 

She  turned  to  sunshine  on  the  spot ; 
I  fell  before  her  fairy  wiles  ! 

—  Yet  wondered  then,  and  wonder  still 

How  't  was  she  got  her  own  sweet  will, 
My  wife,  Olivia. 


LILAC.  77 


XL. 

LILAC. 

I  CANNOT  tell  why  lilac  flowers 

Should  bring  me  such  strange  dreams : 

Within  their  scented  purple  buds 
A  wondrous  witchcraft  gleams. 

It  pictures  languid  Persian  girls, 
Star-Eyes  and  Rose-in-Bloom, 

The  jewel-clusters  gathering 
In  Orient  garden-gloom. 

Then  in  a  still  New  England  lane, 

Beneath  the  starlight  wan, 
My  errant  fancy  stays  to  kiss 

A  dove-eyed  Puritan. 


78  LILAC. 

Ah,  Lilac,  in  your  pretty  art 
You  give  me  of  the  best,  — 

The  passion  of  the  Orient, 
The  sweetness  of  the  West  I 


A  SUMMER  RAIN.  79 


XLI. 

A  SUMMER  RAIN. 

THE  rippling  music  of  the  shower  is  still ; 

Low,  thunderous  murmurs  tremble  in  the  west ; 
A  listless  breeze  now  stirs  the  dripping  leaves, 

Now  wafts  a  perfume  from  its  crimson  nest. 
Bright  blooms  the  rose,  bright  waves  the  ripen- 
ing grain, 
Crowned  with  the  blessing  of  the  summer  rain. 

The  solemn  elm-tree  shakes  its  ancient  locks 
In  grave  monotony  above  the  stream ; 

From  all  its  branches  roll  the  shining  drops, 
Dimpling  the  water  with  a  transient  gleam. 

Upon  the  earth  the  hand  of  God  hath  lain,  — 

His  benediction  is  the  summer  rain. 


8o  A   SUMMER  RAIN. 

So  in  my  heart  the  summer  lives  and  glows, 
And  in  its  light  soft  shine  the  coming  years ; 

I  lie  and  dream  through  many  a  golden  day  — 
Ah  happy  dreams  that  bring  such  happy  tears  ! 

No  joy  was  e'er  so  sweet  as  this  sweet  pain  — 

Gleaming  through  sunshine  falls  the  summer  rain. 


ALL  IN  ALL.  81 


XLII. 
ALL  IN  ALL. 

HER  Love,  he  hath  a  lordly  way, 

He  knoweth  how  to  chide  ; 
But 't  is  no  grievance  to  obey,  — 

She  sees  in  him  her  guide. 

His  frown  doth  hurt  her  to  the  heart, 

Yet  she  would  not  rebel ; 
She  could  not  see 't,  were  they  apart, 

So  she  doth  love  it  well. 

The  music  of  his  voice  can  lose 
Naught  in  its  sternest  change ; 

Then,  though  he  chide,  she  cannot  choose 
Her  loving  to  estrange. 


82  NOVEMBER  DAYS. 


XLIII. 
NOVEMBER  DAYS. 

FLYING,  flying  — 
I  watch  the  swallows  flying, 

Flitting  south  before  November  snows, 
Leaving  the  delaying  leaves  a-dying 

Broken-hearted  for  the  buried  rose. 

Follow,  follow  — 
Everything  must  follow ;  — 

Even  the  memory  of  the  summer  dies. 
Follow,  follow ;  good-by,  happy  swallow, 

Flying  southward  as  the  summer  flies. 


TO-MORROW.  83 

XLIV. 
TO-MORROW. 

O  SUMMER  day,  that  art  so  brief, 

From  Earth  her  utmost  beauty  borrow, 
With  wildwood  song  and  fragrant  leaf 
Weave  happy  visions  of  To-morrow ! 
O  fair  To-day, 
That  will  not  stay, 
Leave  some  bright  vision  of  To-morrow ! 

O  winter  day,  that  art  so  long, 

Canst  not  from  flying  summer  borrow 
Some  fancied  bloom  and  light  and  song, 
Some  heavenly  vision  of  To-morrow ! 
O  desolate  day 
That  must  away, 
Leave  some  bright  vision  of  To-morrow ! 


84  LOVE  IN  HERMITAGE. 


XLV. 
LOVE  IN  HERMITAGE. 

BEHIND  closed  doors  and  double  locks  he  bides, 
The  little  anchorite,  grave,  serene,  and  sweet, 

With  radiant  wings  hid  'neath  monastic  guise, 
And  quiver  laid,  forgotten,  at  his  feet. 

A  wreath  of  thorns,  a  knotted  scourge,  hath  he, 

And  drops  of  flame  that  are  his  rosary. 

Year  after  year  the  mayflowers  smile  and  die ; 

O'er  wild-rose  hedges  summer  breezes  blow ; 
The  last  frail  gentian  nods  forlorn  adieus, 

And  winter  snows  drift  ghostly  to  and  fro. 
"  Hath    summer    come  ? "      "  Is   winter   here  ? " 
saith  he, 

And,  musing,  turns  him  to  his  rosary. 


LOVE  IN  HERMITAGE.  85 

Each  ruby  bead  gleams  with  a  secret  fire, 
Each  the  brief  history  of  a  tilt  with  life ; 

This,  tragic  passion  —  this,  a  dear  despair  — 
This,  dream  of  rest  that  is  to  end  the  strife. 

"  What  griefs,  what  joys,  lie  prisoned  here,"  saith 

he, 
And  tells  his  prayers  upon  his  rosary. 

The  soul  it  is  that  guards  this  hermitage ; 

The  busy  world,  unseeing,  passes  by, 
Counts  up  its  losses,  balances  its  gains, 

Unconscious  of  a  treasure  hidden  nigh. 
Sweet  Love  laughs  softly.    "  Life  is  short,"  saith 

he, 
"  And  to  the  grave  I  give  my  rosary." 


A    CRY  FROM  THE    SHORE. 

XLVI. 
A  CRY  FROM  THE  SHORE. 

COME  down,  ye  graybeard  mariners, 

Unto  the  wasting  shore  ! 
The  morning  winds  are  up,  —  the  gods 

Bid  me  to  dream  no  more. 
Come,  tell  me  whither  I  must  sail, 

What  peril  there  may  be, 
Before  I  take  my  life  in  hand 

And  venture  out  to  sea  ! 

"  We  may  not  tell  thee  where  to  sail, 

Nor  what  the  dangers  are ; 
Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself, 

Each  hath  a  separate  star : 
Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself, 

And  on  the  awful  sea 


A    CRY  FROM  THE  SHORE.         87 

What  we  have  learned  is  ours  alone ; 
We  may  not  tell  it  thee." 

Come  back,  O  ghostly  mariners, 

Ye  who  have  gone  before  ! 
I  dread  the  dark,  impetuous  tides ; 

I  dread  the  farther  shore. 
Tell  me  the  secret  of  the  waves  ; 

Say  what  my  fate  shall  be  — 
Quick !  for  the  mighty  winds  are  up, 

And  will  not  wait  for  me. 

"  Hail  and  farewell,  O  voyager  ! 

Thyself  must  read  the  waves ; 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm 

Lies  with  us  in  our  graves  : 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm 

Is  ours  alone  to  know. 
The  winds  are  blowing  out  to  sea, 

Take  up  thy  life  and  go  ! " 


88  MORNING-GLORY. 

XLVII. 
MORNING-GLORY. 

FLOWER-O'-FLAX  is  like  the  sky, 

Or  an  innocent  maiden's  eye  ; 

Lilies,  too,  are  very  fair, 

And  larkspur  hath  a  regal  air ; 

The  red  rose  wooes  the  wind  afar ; 

Marigold 's  a  fairy  star ; 

All  debonair  and  full  of  cheer, 

Sweet-William  's  a  gay  cavalier  ; 
Yet  dearer  than  these  you  are,  my  pretty  sweeting, 
My  Morning-glory,  dainty-fine  and  fleeting ! 

Where  last  year's  withered  branches  bide, 
There  doth  my  Beauty  twine  and  hide  : 
That  clinging  tendril's  soft  caress 
Might  move  a  stone  to  tenderness. 


MORNING-GLORY.  \ 

At  dawn  her  lovely  lids  unclose 
To  shame  the  clouds  with  pearl  and  rose. 
All  a  flower  knows  of  fresh  and  sweet 
In  these  bewitching  blossoms  meet. 
Oh,  dearest  of  all  you  are,  my  pretty  sweeting, 
My  Morning-glory,  dainty-fine  and  fleeting  ! 


90  THE  HIDDEN  CHARM. 

XLVIII. 
THE  HIDDEN  CHARM. 

WHETHER  my  life  be  glad  or  no, 

The  summers  come,  the  summers  go. 

The  lanes  grow  dark  with  dying  leaves  ; 

Icicles  hang  beneath  the  eaves ; 

The  asters  wither  to  the  snow : 

Thus  doth  the  summer  end  and  go, 
Whether  my  life  be  glad  or  no. 

Whether  my  life  be  sad  or  no, 

The  winters  come,  the  winters  go. 

The  sunshine  plays  with  baby  leaves  ; 

Swallows  build  about  the  eaves ; 

Violets  in  the  woodland  blow : 

Thus  doth  the  winter  end  and  go, 
Whether  my  life  be  sad  or  no. 


THE  HIDDEN  CHARM.  91 

Yet  Mother  Nature  gives  to  me 
A  fond  and  patient  sympathy ; 
In  my  own  heart  I  find  the  charm 
To  make  her  tender,  near,  and  warm ; 
Through  summer  sunshine,  winter  snow, 
She  clasps  me,  sad  or  glad  or  no. 


92  UNDER   THE  STARS. 

XLIX. 
UNDER  THE   STARS. 

O  NIGHT,  look  down  through  cloud  and  star 

Upon  our  fret  and  pain ! 
Bid  all  the  dreams  that  day  denies 

Bloom  into  faith  again ! 
In  silvery  shades  of  shadow  come 
And  take  Earth's  weary  children  home ! 

Sweet  teacher,  wiser  than  the  schools, 

Thy  speechless  lessons  bring ; 
The  rebel  soul,  the  aching  heart, 

The  will  like  broken  wing, 
Make  ready  for  a  stiller  night, 
And  for  a  dearer  Morning  Light ! 


VA  GRANT  PANSIES.  93 


VAGRANT  PANSIES. 

THEY  are  all  in  the  lily  bed,  cuddled  close  to- 
gether — 

Purples,  Yellow  Cap,  and  little  Baby  Blue ; 
How  they  ever  got  there  you  must  ask  the  April 

weather, 

The  morning  and  the  evening  winds,  the  sun- 
shine and  the  dew. 

Why  they  should  go  visiting  the  tall  and  haughty 
lilies 

Is  very  odd,  and  none  of  them  will  condescend 

t 
to  say ; 


94  VAGRANT  PANSIES. 

They  might  have  made  a  call  upon  the  jolly  daf- 
fodillies — 

They  might  have  come  to  my  house  any  pleas- 
ant day. 

They  don't  have  a  good  time,  I  think,  their  little 

faces 
Look  so  very  solemn  underneath  each  velvet 

hood; 
I  wonder  don't  they  feel  among  the  garden's  airs 

and  graces 
That  shy  Cousin  Violet  is  happier  in  the  wood  ? 

Ah,  my  pretty  Pansies,  it 's  no  use  to  go  a-seek- 

ing; 

There  is  n't  any  good  time  waiting  anywhere ; 
I  fancy  even  Violet  is  troubled  —  mildly  speak- 
ing— 

When  somebody  plucks  her,  finding  her  so 
fair. 


VA  GRANT  PANSIES.  95 

There 's  nothing  left  for  you,  my  pets,  but  just  to 

do  your  duty: 
Bloom,  and  make  the  world  bright,  —  that 's 

the  best  for  you; 

There  is  n't  much  that 's  lovelier  than  your  bash- 
ful beauty, 

My  Purples,  my  Yellow  Cap,  my  little  Baby 
Blue. 


96  JUNE. . 

LI. 
JUNE. 

OF  silvery-shining  rains 

And  noonday  golds  and  shadows 
June  weaves  wild-daisy  chains 

For  the  happy  meadows. 

She  stoops  to  set  the  stream 
With  scented  alder-bushes, 

And  with  the  rainbow  gleam 
Of  iris  'mid  the  rushes. 

She  scatters  eglantine 

And  scarlet  columbine. 

Ah,  June,  my  lovely  lass,  — 
Sweetheart,  dost  thou  not  see 

I  stay  to  watch  thee  pass  — 
What  hast  thou  brought  to  me  ? 


JUNE.  97 


Thy  mystic  ministries 

Of  glorious  far  skies, 

Thy  wild-rose  sermons,  Sweet, 

Like  dreams  profound  and  fleet, 

Thy  woodland  harmony 

Thou  givest  me. 

The  vision  that  can  see, 
The  loving  will  to  learn, 

How  fair  thy  skies  may  be, 
What  in  thy  roses  burn, 

Thy  secret  harmonies,  — 

Ah,  give  me  these  I 


98  MIDSUMMER  SONG. 

LII. 

MIDSUMMER  SONG! 

Now  flits  the  bee  through  clover-dales, 

Now  shallow  grows  the  river 
In  leafy  nooks  where  lilies  float 

And  wandering  sunbeams  quiver. 
Now  thistledown  begins  to  fly, 
And  drowsily  the  South  winds  sigh, 
"  Good-by,  good-by, 
Good-by." 

O  fair  Midsummer !     Like  the  bee 

Adream  in  sylvan  places, 
We  taste  the  sweetness  of  thy  bloom, 

Thy  wonderful,  wild  graces. 

Alas !  must  all  this  beauty  die  ? 

—  Drowsily  the  soft  winds  sigh, 

"  Good-by,  good-by, 

Good-by." 


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